


Peter's Guide to Vigilantism

by RowanSage



Series: Guidebook [2]
Category: Daredevil (TV), Spider-Man - All Media Types, The Punisher (TV 2017)
Genre: AU, Dad Punisher, Frank Castle's Guilt Complex, Gen, Hurt Peter Parker, Not Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Compliant, Not super graphic but still there, Past Child Abuse, Past Rape/Non-con, Peter Parker has PTSD, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Frank Castle, Protective Matt Murdock, Protective Tony Stark, They're all very protective of the Kid, Torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-20
Updated: 2020-10-20
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:00:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27126206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RowanSage/pseuds/RowanSage
Summary: Peter gulped.  The Punisher was swaying slightly from side to side, gaze burning into him relentlessly.  A table sat on one side, and Peter caught a glance of tools, wire cutters, butcher knives, a taser.  He tugged once again on his restraints, but they held firm.“So.” The Punisher's voice was a soft growl.  “I heard you like feeling up little girls.”OR Frank Castle makes a mistake, and Peter almost pays the price.
Series: Guidebook [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1979956
Comments: 14
Kudos: 238





	Peter's Guide to Vigilantism

**Author's Note:**

> TW: Past CSA, Flashbacks, PTSD, Non-graphic Torture
> 
> This will probably have multiple parts, but for now just read it as a oneshot.

Peter opened his eyes blearily and groaned, the harsh lighting making his head pound. He reached instinctively to block it out, but his hands didn’t budge. They were tied to the arm of the chair. He tried to tug at it, but somehow super strength wasn’t enough. 

Fear filled him.

What happened?

Memories flashed through him, of gunshots, metal, screaming - a skull, white and eerie, painted on a black vest. Peter opened his eyes wider. He was in a basement, shackled to a chair, and sitting across from him was Frank Castle. The Punisher.

Oh.

Oh no.

Peter gulped. The Punisher was swaying slightly from side to side, gaze burning into him relentlessly. A table sat on one side, and Peter caught a glance of tools, wire cutters, butcher knives, a taser. He tugged once again on his restraints, but they held firm.

“So.” The Punisher's voice was a soft growl. “I heard you like feeling up little girls.”

“What are you- _AGH_ -” The Punisher's hand closed around his neck, yanking him forward until his wrists screamed in protest. They were nose to nose, close enough that Peter could smell his breath.

“Friendly neighborhood Spider-man,” The Punisher snarled. “Always lookin’ after the little guy.” His fist slammed down on Peter’s forearm, and Peter screamed, feeling the bone give way a little. “Tell me, was it just her? Or were there more, are there more teen girls you’ve saved and taken advantage of?”

“What’re you-” Something in Peter’s mind clicked. “Do you mean MJ?” He’d saved her from getting mugged near Midtown, and afterwards pulled her into a quick kiss. He hadn’t known, hadn’t realized what it would look like to people who thought him an adult. 

“Oh, is that her name?” Punisher said softly. “The girl you pushed against a fucking wall?” 

“Pl-please, Mr. Punisher sir,” Peter stuttered, eyesight blurring. “You’re making a mistake-” He yelled in pain as the Punisher slammed his fist down again, and again, this time against his abdomen. Something snapped, and Peter could hear his bones grind together. He sobbed. He felt like throwing up.

“No, I don’t think I am,” Punisher said. He got up and stalked towards the table. Terror filled Peter as he rooted through the tools, each one glinting ominously in the broken overhead light. He selected a knife, long and thin, and walked back over to Peter, who groaned in fear.

“Here’s how this is gonna go,” Punisher growled. “I’m going to kill you, Spider-man. But first I’m gonna make you pay.” He dragged the knife, slicing down Peter’s arm, cutting away the suit as he did so, and Peter’s breath hitched in his throat. Would the Punisher . . . Would he? Flashes of memories, of magazines, of _you’re doing good, Einstein_. The Punisher grinned, obviously relishing in his distress.

“Let’s see who’s under there, shall we?” He said. “A scumbag like you doesn’t deserve a secret identity.” And with that, the Punisher ripped off his mask. Peter screamed. The restraints broke. He scrambled backward, away away _awayawayaway_ -

“Get off me, please!” little Peter said, curled against the wall of his bedroom. “I’ll be good, I promise, I’ll be good! I don’t wanna play anymore!” He bowed inwards, ribs screaming in protest. He couldn’t let _him_ get a hold of anything. His breath was shallow and rapid, a band wrapped centerline around his chest. He couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t _breathe_ , _he was going to die_ -

“-id? Kid! Jesus, what the hell-”

A hand gripped his shoulder, and without thinking Peter lashed out, hitting whoever it was square in the face. The figure cursed and fell backwards.

“Alright. Alright, I won’t touch you. You’re safe. I won’t hurt you now, I promise.” Peter whimpered, eyes squeezed tightly shut. He could hear _his_ voice, feel _his_ breath on his face-

“Tell me two things you can feel, alright? What does the ground feel like?”

“Hard,” Someone choked, “And cold. The wall feels . . . the same.”

“Yeah, yeah that’s right, kid. Good job,” There was a rustle of fabric. “What’s two things you can hear?”

“. . . Heart . . . beat. The light . . . is creaking. Oughta fix that.” The person chuckled, low and gruff, not at all like Skip’s snorting cackle.

“Hey,” The figure said. “You can open your eyes. It’s okay, you’re safe.”

“Sk-skip?” Peter whispered, just to make sure. “Bedroom?”

“No,” The person sighed. “We’re in my fuckin’ basement, remember? I-” They choked for a moment. “I tied you up.” Peter opened his eyes, and he was back. Back in the basement with the torture table, the overhead lighting, the chair he’d tipped over. He was curled in a corner of the concrete room, and Frank Castle, the Punisher was crouched in front of him, blood dripping from his nose. Peter whimpered and shut his eyes tightly, hugging himself around the waist. _I’m gonna die_. 

The Punisher reached out and Peter flinched back, but all he did was gently brush Peter’s hair to one side to survey the damage to his head and face. His eyes were wide and expressive, filled with anger and worry.

“God, what’ve you gone through, kid? What-what’re you rememberin’, huh?” Mr. Castle murmured, shifting closer. Peter shuddered and shook his head violently, pulling his knees closer, ignoring his screaming ribs. “Easy, easy. You don’t have to talk about it, alright? I’m sorry.”

“‘M sorry,” Peter muttered frantically. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, there’s been a mistake, please don’t kill me!”

“I know, I know. Hey, it’s okay,” Mr. Castle placated him, putting a hand on his shoulder. “How old are you, kiddo?”

“Umm,” Peter mumbled. “Eighteen.” the Punisher looked at him, brow furrowed.

“That was a lie.” He said flatly. “You’re younger than that.”

“I-” Peter sighed. He'd already seen his face; there was nothing to be done. “I’ll be sixteen in a couple months.”

“Jesus,” Mr. Castle glanced between him and the tools on the table, face twisted in horror. “Jesus, _fuck_.” He stumbled over to the table and Peter stiffened, ready for him to grab another weapon, but all he did was sweep them over with one arm, sending all the tools clattering on the ground. He leaned over it, head bowed, and Peter could see his hands shaking where they gripped the table ledge.

“Does-” Peter coughed, blood dripping down his chin. “Does this mean you’re not gonna kill me?”

Mr. Castle let out a pained noise and shook his head, putting his face in his hands. Peter coughed again, vision going grey around the edges. _Ow_.

“‘M sorry,” Peter mumbled. “C’n I go home now?” Mr. Castle turned toward him, and exhaled sharply when he spotted the blood dribbling past his lips. He walked over to Peter and crouched down, eyes surveying the damage.

“We gotta get you to a doctor, kiddo,” He said. Peter shook his head, whimpering as it throbbed with the movement. Mr. Castle put a hand in the back of his head to stop the movement, and Peter flinched automatically.

“‘S okay,” He gasped. “I’ve had worse, ‘nd I heal fast. No ‘ospitals, can’t know who I am.” Mr. Castle closed his eyes briefly.

“Right.” He said. “ _Right_. In that case, I have a friend who can help.” He tilted his head and his lips twitched sardonically. “Well, more of a friend of an enemy.”

“But they’d know who I am,” Peter protested despite the pain.

“No offense, kid, but I don’t think you trust me enough to patch ya up,” He replied. “Or anyone else associated with me, for that matter. This, ah, _friend_ I’m talking about is a vigilante too, and his doctor helps out a lot of people like us. They won’t tell, I promise.”

“M’kay,” Peter sighed, eyes drifting shut. A hand tapped his cheek, and he flinched.

“Hey, you can’t fall asleep on me, okay?” the Punisher said. “You hit your head pretty hard before I brought you here. Can I lift you up?” Peter nodded, and Mr. Castle looped an arm under his knees and elbows. Peter yelped as his ribs moved unnaturally, and he saw the Punisher wince at the sound.

“I’m sorry,” He said lowly, and Peter blinked at him with wide eyes. “I should’ve- I didn’t _know_. I don’t hurt kids.” Peter hummed, vision blurring in and out.

“S’rry,” He said. “D’n mean to freak out. ‘S good you protect my girlfriend like that. You’re good people, Mis’r Castle.” The Punisher laughed humorlessly, and his grip tightened.

“Whatever the hell I am, it ain’t that.” He pushed open a door, and cold night air hit them both, making Peter shiver. He drew himself closer to the warm figure holding him, head resting on Frank’s chest.

They walked for what seemed like ages, before reaching a seemingly innocuous park bench near the waterside. Mr. Castle laid him down gently and sat down, laying Peter’s head in his lap. He took off his coat and draped it over him, partially because of the cold and partially to conceal his identity.

“You doin’ alright, kiddo?” He asked, and when Peter nodded, said, “Good. I’m gonna call my person now, okay? You just hang tight.”

“Peter,” He mumbled. “My name’s Peter.” Frank stilled, but he didn’t say anything. He ran one hand through Peter’s hair, and with the other he pulled out a flip phone and dialed a number.

“Hey, Red. Usual spot. I’m gonna need Ms. Claire.” Silence. Peter’s super hearing didn’t seem to be working. “Nope, not hurt. It’s for someone else. I . . .” His voice wavered. “Please hurry. They ain’t in great shape.” Dizziness hit Peter again, and this time he wasn’t sure if he could fight it.

“Sorry, Mr. Castle,” He slurred. “Gon’ fall asleep now, ‘kay?”

“Hey, no!” A hand shook him. “C’mon, kid, stay with me, you gotta-” But it was too late, and Peter felt the world dissolve.

_“-need some he-”_

  
_“-ust a kid! How could you-”_

  
_“-ive me room! I nee-”_

  
_“C’mon, kiddo. You go-”_

  
“You got a life to live. Don’t give up just yet.”

Peter’s eyes snapped open.

Sunlight streamed through floor-length windows.

A blanket lay on top of him.

Anxiously, Peter listened for the telltale beep of an EKG, but there was none. He sighed in relief. No hospital. In fact, this looked to be someone’s apartment; quite nice, except for the giant billboard blaring in the window.

“You’re awake!” Peter’s head snapped around, and he flinched away, automatically putting one foot on the floor.

“Whoa, easy,” The blond man smiled reassuringly at him from behind the kitchen counter. “My name’s Foggy. You’re in my apartment. _Well_ , mine and my boyfriend’s.”

“I’m Peter. Are you the doctor Mr. Castle talked about?” Peter asked. He lay back on the couch, but his muscles stayed tense in preparation. Foggy’s smile faltered.

“Uh, no. That would be Claire. She had to leave for work; she’ll be back in the evening to check on you.” 

“Oh,” Peter said dumbly. “Um, I’m probably fine by now. I heal fast.”

“Still,” Foggy sat in a chair across from him. “Better safe than sorry, right?”

“I guess,” Peter grumbled. “Though my aunt will be worried sick. I should probably call her and let her know what happened.”

“Yeah, about that,” Foggy frowned, a worried gleam in his eye. “What exactly did happen?”

Muffled thump.

Footsteps.

Peter stilled, head twitching to one side. “Do people normally walk on your roof?” He asked.

“What-” Foggy sputtered. “Okay, Mr. Nonsequitor. _What_?”

“I can hear people up there,” Peter said. His eyes narrowed. “Two people. One of them has boots on.”

“How the- you know what, I’m not gonna ask,” Foggy rubbed his forehead. “ _Jesus Christ there’s two of them_ \- Yeah, it’s probably just Matt, uh, my boyfriend. But you said there was two people?”

A knock at the door. Peter slid off the couch and into a crouch, staring intently at the door. Foggy walked over and opened it.

“Oh,” His voice turned ice cold. “You’re with _him_.” A suited-up man stepped into the room; he carried a cane and wore red-tinted glasses. Behind him, was-

“Mr. Castle!” Peter exclaimed, standing upright. “Uh, I thought you just left me here.” Mr. Castle glanced over at him, and Peter couldn’t help a spike of nervousness.

“Lay down,” He said. “You’re still injured. You coulda died last night.” Peter shook his arm a little experimentally, and was only met by a dull twinge. Foggy made a wounded sound.

“That- you can’t just wave around a broken arm!” 

“It’s okay!” Peter reassured him. “It was only a fracture! It barely even hurts anymore!”

“Lay. Down.” Mr. Castle growled, and Peter reluctantly complied. The suit-man, who Peter assumed was Matt, tilted his head to one side.

“You sound younger than I thought. You must be 17, at the most?” Matt said. “I’m Matt, by the way. Matt Murdock.”

“Yeah. Foggy told me.” Peter shifted, and winced as his ribs creaked in protest. “And uh . . . I’m 15.” Foggy’s mouth fell open, and Matt’s frown deepened.

“What the hell, man!” Foggy exclaimed, ignored Matt’s mutter of ‘Blasphemy’. He glared directly at Frank. “Why would ‘the Punisher’ go after a kid?”

“I didn’t know how old he was,” Mr. Castle replied, looking pained. “If I did, I wouldn’t have. I don’t- I don’t hurt kids.”

“I know. Your m.o. is more like, drug dealers and mob guys, right?” Peter said. “I have to wonder . . . I mean, I get why you’d come after me if you thought I was some kind of creep, but still.”

“If there’s anything I hate more than a self-righteous hero, it’s villains pretending to be one.” Frank shrugged. “Some guy came to me, claimed you were a bad man of the worse sort and had some good evidence to prove it. I definitely should have done more recon but . . . I hate bastards like that. More than anything else.”

“Yeah,” Peter said softly. “I, uh, hit harder on those people. Always have.”

“Okay, hold on a second,” Matt sounded pissed. “Hit harder? What do you mean, ‘hit harder’?”

“He also said he could hear you guys on the roof,” Foggy supplied, somewhat unhelpfully. “Like, from the couch.”

“Oh,” Peter shrunk in on himself. “I thought you already knew.” He glanced at Mr. Castle, who shrugged, tucking his hands in his coat pockets.

“Not my secret to tell, kid,” He said. “But it’s like I said, you can trust ‘em.” Peter contemplated this for a moment.

“I’m,” Peter’s tongue felt heavy. “I’m Spider-man.” 

Silence.

“What.” Matt’s voice was flat. Peter shrunk inward, and winced as he jostled his ribs. Frank took a step forward. “You- you’re a child.”

“No I’m not!” Peter exclaimed. Foggy gave him a look that reminded him of Aunt May.

“You shouldn’t be doin’ vigilante work, kid,” Frank said softly. “It ain’t safe. It’s not something someone your age should have to do.” Peter glared at him.

“You guys don’t know me! You don’t know anything about me!” Peter could feel his hands shaking. “Just-just lay off, okay? I do what I do for a reason.”

“What is your reason?” Matt asked.

“Because,” Peter grated. “If-if you can do the things that I can, but you don't, and then the bad things happen? They happen because of you. You know?” Matt looked exasperated, but Mr. Castle. . . his face held a horrible realization.

“Yeah,” Mr. Castle said, voice rougher than usual. “Yeah, I know. Still,” He adjusted his coat. “Do you have any training? Any backup? Anyone who knows you’re out here doing this?” 

“No.” Peter replied, feeling somewhat sheepish. “No, I . . . people know, but I’m not really trained.” Castle nodded, as if he’d been expecting that. Matt looked pained.

“You could’ve been killed,” He muttered. His hands were white-knuckled on his knees. “Heck, Frank could’ve been the one to kill you.” Frank’s face twisted.

“I wouldn’t have!” He snapped. “Minute I took his mask off, I knew he was a kid!”

“But what if you didn’t?” Matt shot back. “What then? This is what I’m always telling you! If you get it wrong then innocent lives are at risk! ” He gestured wildly in Peter’s direction. “His heart almost stopped last night, did you know that? Claire had to use a fucking emergency difibrilator because you almost _killed_ a _child_!”

Frank went very pale and very still. Peter felt a jolt of fear. He’d almost _died?_

“. . .I didn’t know that,” Frank’s hands were shaking again, and his eyes held a distant look to them. “I . . . listen, Red- fuckin’ hell.” He tilted his head back and closed his eyes, trying to regain his composure. “I don’t go after kids, you know that. I would _never_ -”

“Hey,” Foggy gently intervened.. “How about you guys argue about this another time? When the teenager in question isn’t present?” Both of them went silent, and Frank glanced at Peter, who was shaking.  
  
“I’m sorry,” Peter said. “I didn’t mean to make you guys fight.”

“Hey, no,” Matt said. “We fight all the time. You don’t have anything to do with it. None of this is your fault.” Frank hummed in agreement and leaned against the counter, looking at the ground. Foggy looked put out.

Awkward silence fell over the apartment.

“So, what, are you guys just gonna stand there staring at him?” Foggy said. “Come over here and sit down.” Matt and the Punisher complied, sitting on the couch opposite Peter. They sat as far away from each other as possible, though Mr. Castle looked a lot more relaxed.

“So,” Frank said. “What powers?”

“Hmm?”

“Strength, speed, frickin’ webs,” He snorted. “There’s no way an untrained kid like you could be out there fighting unless you had some kinda advantage.”

“Right, um . . .” Peter trailed off, unsure where to begin. Then he remembered. “You know how I could hear you guys from the roof? I have really, really strong hearing. And everything else, really. All of my senses are dialed up to, like, an eleven.”

“Could you hear my heartbeat?” Matt sounded weirdly excited, and Frank gave him an amused sort of look. Peter shrugged. 

“Probably,” He said. “If I concentrate hard enough. That’s not really my main power, though. I can kind of . . . sense danger? Like a sixth sense of sorts. I can tell if there’s a gun pointed at me, or if something is about to happen.”

“Damn,” Frank said. “That’d be helpful, for sure.”

“It is,” Peter grinned. “I’d probably be dead ten times over if it weren’t for that.” Matt rubbed his forehead. Foggy put his face in his hands and muttered something about _“a literal child talking about dodging bullets”_. Frank looked the calmest out of all of them, but his eyes held a worried glint to them, and he kept glancing over Peter’s injuries.

“I heard you can bench press a truck.”

“Yeah,” Peter smiled sheepishly. “I’m pretty strong, you could say. And . . . sticky? I can climb vertically, even upside down. I tend to stick to surfaces and the like. Only when I want to, though. That’s . . . basically all of my powers.”

“What about the webs? They, ah . . .” Frank cleared his throat. “Natural?”

“What? No! No, definitely not; that’d be gross. I make them myself; it’s a little mechanism I wear on my wrist.”

“Good,” Frank grinned crookedly. “At least you have some kind of weapon.” Then the grin disappeared. “Hey, uh . . . do you mind if I take a look at your injuries? I got a bit of medic training under my belt, and I wanna make sure there’s nothing we missed. You don’t have to, though.”

“It’s like I said, super-healing,” Peter shrugged. “But . . . yeah. Go ahead.” Frank shuffled forward until he was crouched in front of him. He reached out towards Peter, who flinched. Frank sighed and shook his head.

“One o’ these days, we’re gonna talk about that flinch instinct of yours.”

“And the mental breakdown?” Peter said dryly. Frank frowned.

“Kid, that wasn’t a mental breakdown,” He said, and when Peter looked down in embarrassment, put a hand on his shoulder. “Hey. It wasn’t a mental breakdown; It was a flashback.” Matt stilled, and Foggy glanced at him, eyes widened.

“How do you know?” Peter grumbled, hugging himself around the waist. “It could’ve been something else.”

“Because I saw your face,” Frank said. “I’m ex-military; I know what PTSD looks like, kiddo.” He poked at Peter’s ribs, and Peter hissed and glared at him. Frank’s expression drifted somewhere near a smile. “Just bruised, huh? I did that on broken ribs, you woulda screamed. You’re damn right you heal fast.” Matt sighed loudly.

“Listen, your kid’s okay, alright Punisher?” He said. “Now leave. I told you you could check on him, and you did.” Frank looked at him for a moment, then at Peter.

“Nah,” He said, and sat back down, sprawling out just to be annoying. “Unless Peter wants me to leave, I’m staying.” Foggy snorted and covered his face with one hand, and Matt just looked annoyed.

“What d’you say, kid?” Frank turned to Peter. “You want me to leave or want me to stay? It’s your choice.”

“Um . . .” Peter looked around nervously. “Could you stay a bit?” He tacked on hastily, “I know you were the one who beat me up, but you also helped me and stuff, and technically I kinda know you better than them, so-”

“Hey, it’s alright,” Frank put up a hand. “You don’t have to explain yourself. I’ll stay, okay?” Matt sighed.

“It’s my apartment,” He said, but the frustration in his voice was somewhat half-hearted. “But fine. I guess.” Peter couldn’t help but grimace slightly.

“If-if you want him to leave-” Peter began, but Matt shook his head.

“No. It’s like he said. Your choice.” Matt said. “Besides, I’d like to know more about you. Why exactly do you have PTSD?”

“Red!” Frank snapped. “You don’t just ask shit like that, Jesus Christ.” Peter fidgeted.

“Mr. Castle’s kinda right,” Peter ventured. “I don’t know you guys very well, sorry. That’s stuff I don’t even talk to my au- to my parents about.” Matt nodded.

“Sorry,” He said. “You’re right, that was a terrible question. I suppose I just meant. . . do you have any triggers?”

“Triggers?”

“Anything that sets you off,” Frank clarified. “Gunshots, screaming, raised voices. If there’s anything we need to avoid, just say so.”

“Honestly, there’s not really that much,” Peter shrugged. “I don’t normally, uh, flashback? Yeah, flashback. That was the first time that happened, actually. It was mostly . . .”

“Extenuating circumstances,” Frank finished, leaning his head back. “Fuck, kid. _Jesus_ , I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Peter reassured him. “I’m fi-”

“No, kid, dammit, it’s not okay!” Frank slammed a hand down on the coffee table. “I beat you up, I almost killed ya, I put you through your first flashback. Then I just left you here, I just-” He let out a pained sound and rubbed a hand over his face. “It’s not okay. You shouldn’t feel like it’s okay, and you shouldn’t try and make me feel better, alright? I can handle a bit o’ guilt, and right now I fuckin’ deserve it.” 

“. . . Okay,” Peter said eventually. Frank’s eyes were wild and angry, and Peter understood. “Okay.”

“Right,” Foggy said. He cleared his throat. “Now that we’ve cleared that up, could we get back to the previous question?”

“I already said that was the first time that happened!” Peter protested. Frank shook his head.

“It doesn’t have to send you into a full-blown flashback for it to be uncomfortable,” He said. Peter thought for a moment.

“. . . In that case, I guess . . . I don’t like it when people grab me from where I can’t see them. I don’t like the nickname Einstein. I don’t . . .” Peter coughed and looked down. “I don’t like being restrained. Especially by my wrists, to a chair or bed.” Frank made a sad sound. Matt shook his head.

“Stop pitying yourself, Castle,” Though his words were harsh, his tone was gentle. “This is about Peter, not you.” 

“Yeah, yeah, I know. It’s still shitty though,” Frank sighed. “And the kid’s takin’ on rapists and murders twice his size with no fuckin’ backup. _Jesus_.”

“Would you mind refraining from taking the Lord’s name in vain in my house?” Matt asked sweetly.

“Eat my dick, Red.”

Peter giggled at the exchange, while Foggy just looked resigned.

“You know,” Matt said. “Since you told me your secret identity, I might as well tell mine. I’m Daredevil.”

“Holy crap, really?” Peter gasped excitedly. “You’re awesome, dude! I’ve always wanted to learn how to fight like that.”

“Hmm,” Matt hummed, and looked at Frank.

“No!” Frank snapped. “No way! He’s fifteen, for Christ’s sake!”

“If we don’t, he’s just going to keep going out on his own, without training,” Matt said. “He’s been lucky so far, but that won’t last forever.” Frank closed his eyes.

“Fine,” He grunted. “I see your point, Hornhead.”

“What? What are you guys talking about?” Peter asked, feeling a twinge of excitement.

“. . . Alright, kid, here’s how this is gonna go,” Frank said, rubbing his hands together. “We’ll allow you to keep doin’ vigilante stuff.”

“Oh, thank goodness! I thought you were gonna-” Peter began, but Frank put a hand up to silence him.

“On one condition.”

Peter bit his lip. “What condition?”

“You let us train you.” Matt replied. “And one of us accompanies you on patrol until we feel you’re ready.”

“Hey, that’s not fair!” Peter exclaimed. “I don’t need a babysitter!”

“This ain’t about us bein’ babysitters,” Frank growled. “You. Aren’t. Trained. Yeah, you have powers, but a bullet to the head is a bullet to the fuckin’ head. You really wanna end up dead at fifteen by some bozo with a shotgun? You have loved ones, right? You wanna put them through that? ‘Cause the way you’re goin’ now, kid, that’s what’s gonna happen.” Peter thought about Aunt May, about her waking up one day and seeing Peter dead on the street like Uncle Ben. A knot twisted in his stomach.

“I . . .” Peter bit his lip and looked down. “You’re right. I guess I never thought of that.”

“The idea is, you hopefully never need the training because of your reflexes,” Matt said. “But if anything ever happens, it’s better to know how to fight.”

“Does that mean you’re gonna teach me right now?” Peter asked excitedly.

“Nope,” Matt grinned. “You can fool the others but I can hear your injuries. Your ribs are still slightly cracked in some places. I’m not teaching you until you’re healed.” Frank frowned.

“What do you mean?” He asked. “I checked; the kid barely reacted.”

“Well, once you have a building dropped on you, other injuries don’t seem as bad.” Peter chuckled. Foggy choked, and Frank sat up straighter.

“A building?” He asked roughly. “When the hell did that happen?”

“A couple months ago,” Peter said. “Mr. Stark took away my suit so I couldn’t call for help; I had to get out of it myself. Luckily, nothing was crushed too bad; my ribs ached for weeks afterwards, though.” Matt’s lips were pressed in a long thin line, and Frank looked confused.

“Stark? As in Tony Stark?” When Peter nodded in confirmation, Frank growled, “That bastard. What’s he thinkin, givin’ a kid a high-tech costume like that? And then taking it away?” Matt tilted his head.

“I was gonna say,” Matt said slowly, “That suit sounds like it has a lot of energy running through it. It doesn’t seem like something a fifteen-year-old could make. No offense.”

“But why, though?” Foggy burst out. “That seems dangerous, just giving you something like that.” 

“He wanted to protect me, I think,” Peter shrugged. “He knew I was gonna go out crime fighting no matter what, so he gave me something that could protect me while I was out.” Frank’s eyes darkened.

“If he wanted to protect you, he should’ve at least fuckin’ trained you,” He growled. “Or given you something other than modified spandex to wear, Jesus. That shit can’t deflect against a knife, and it sure as hell doesn’t look like it could stop a bullet. He didn’t come when I hurt you, either, which means there’s no safety protocol.” Peter winced.

“Uh, yeah, about that,” Peter said sheepishly. “I kinda maybe hacked and disabled that protocol. And the GPS. I didn’t want him knowing I was patrolling past curfew, and beyond Queens.” Matt laughed incredulously.

“You managed to hack a piece of Stark technology?” He sputtered. “No wonder he likes you.” Frank didn’t look amused, however.

“Y’know, kid, I may not agree with that bastard on a lot of things, but I agree with him on this. If you’re gonna go out and fight crime like this, you need to have at least one person knowing where you are who can come help if you need it. If you don’t want Stark trackin’ ya that’s fine, but someone needs to.” Peter felt ashamed.

“Yeah, I know. I just didn’t want him lecturing me about it, is all.” He said. Matt hummed in understanding.

“You don’t want people treating you like a kid,” He said. “That’s understandable. Just make sure you aren’t compromising your safety to prove it to them.” Peter smiled sheepishly.

“Alrighty,” Foggy clapped his hands together, and Matt winced and grimaced at him. “I think you guys should give Peter some time to rest, and I will get you a phone.” He smiled at Peter. 

Frank and Matt stood, and Matt went to Foggy to discuss something in low tones. Of course, Peter thought, head tilting, I can hear everything they’re saying. Something about a legal proceeding and . . . clients?

“You eavesdropping, kid?” Peter jumped, and saw Frank leaning against the arm of the couch. His lips were twitching in amusement.

“Uh, sorry,” Peter stammered, but Frank shook his head.

“‘S alright,” He said. “They don’t discuss anything important around me anyway. Do you still want me to stay? ‘Cause I can if you want.” Peter shook his head.

“That’s okay,” He replied. “Thank you, though, Mr. Castle. For everything.” Frank sighed and patted Peter on the shoulder.

“Sure, kid, whatever you say.”

“You have kids of your own, don’t you?” Peter said. “That’s why you don’t hurt kids. And why you went after me initially.” Frank’s expression froze, and his hand clenched into a white-knuckled fist.

“. . .Yeah,” Frank’s voice was much quieter. “I do. That’s why.” He ruffled Peter’s hair. “Get some rest, okay, kiddo? I’ll see you around.” And with that, Frank slipped out of the apartment, leaving behind the slight smell of gunsmoke and coffee.

**Author's Note:**

> Frank, as soon as he sees Peter's face: *vibrating violently* DAD MODE ACTIVATED.


End file.
